


Collection of Tales

by cdaae



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, short little one shots inspired by prompts I receive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:48:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdaae/pseuds/cdaae
Summary: An ongoing collection of short e/c stories. May take place in different adaptations. I may also end up updating the rating. If there's a prompt you want to see, I'm taking requests on my tumblr- cdaae
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Collection of Tales

Nightmares were an all too common occurrence in the little house five cellars down. Erik often woke gasping for breath, his thin body drenched in sweat. He would spend several shaking minutes lying in bed, panting, as his vision slowly faded from his blood-red dreams of Persia to normal colors.

There was only one thing that could calm his racing heart and subside his shuddering and gasping;  _ Christine _ . 

He would close his eyes and imagine her before him, all in white, her dark curls fanning out around her and floating towards him like a true angel. 

_ On this particular night, the image of her he conjured up in his mind, unusually, did little to calm. Although he felt a regained sense of sanity, there was still an increase in his heart rate. Sleep would not come again that night, he knew. He rose from the bed and hoped to find solace elsewhere. Erik knew he would not find it in his dark dungeon of a home, so he ascended. _

_ The opera house was still and silent as he moved through the corridors. Most of the staff had left for the night; the only ones who remained were Madame Giry and her ballet girls. He’d thought to go to the dorms and cast a glance upon his sleeping angel, but he found, instead, that his legs were leading him up to the roof.  _

_ A thin layer of snow covered the rooftop; he pulled his cloak tighter around himself, although he felt no particular chill. It was a rehearsed habit in place of the natural reaction he knew he should have. He stepped on the snow with a soft crunch. _

_ She was standing by the edge, bathed in moonlight, peering out at the city that lay sleeping many stories below. She climbed onto the edge and began to dance.  _

_ He wanted to call out to her, to beg her delicate, precarious moves, or go to her before she fell, but his mouth wouldn’t open and his legs wouldn’t move. He was frozen.  _

_ His stomach churned every time she twirled on the precipice, willing her not to slip. With one final turn, she faced him. For a long moment, they could only stare at each other. Christine slowly raised her arm, pointing at him. She whispered two syllables; one word that effectively drove a knife through his heart.  _

_ “Monster.” _

_ And then she fell.  _

Erik bolted upright in his bed, his chest heaving. Never before had his mind used  _ her _ for one of his wretched dreams. It was jarring, and left him deeply unsettled long after he had steadied his breathing. He decided he had to see her, to make certain she was alright. 

He took the familiar path to her dormitory, his cloak fanning out behind him and lending him a ghostly air. If anyone saw him, they did not dare confront the determined spectre that strode down the opera halls. 

The dormitory walls were lined with beds containing sleeping ballet rats, who did not stir as he walked through their ranks. He stopped at an empty cot, his stomach twisting into knots at the sight. Christine’s bed was bare and untouched. Erik’s heart pounded in his chest as he moved towards the roof. Had his nightmare been a premonition?

He’d never moved so quickly through the opera before, taking the fastest possible route up to the roof. 

A quiet sniffling stopped him as he passed through a rarely used corridor, just past the chapel door.  _ Of course _ .

In his panic, he’d forgotten that she often came to the chapel to pray. It was the more logical answer, and it unnerved him that he was so concerned for her welfare that he’d discard rational thought in favor of blind panic. 

He descended the short staircase, peering around the corner and into the dimly lit chapel. Christine was in a pile on the floor, curled into herself. Soft streaks of moonlight filtered in through the small stained glass window. Erik felt as though he was witnessing something holy, far too pure for a devil like him to witness. But, for all his guilt, he could not look away. 

With his nightmare long forgotten, his only desire now was to comfort her. He called out softly, singing her a sweet melody. She sat up and wiped at her cheeks. 

“Angel? Is that you?” 

Her quiet, hopeful words warmed his heart. 

They had parted awkwardly after she had unmasked him and exposed his shame. He knew now that his reaction had been rather beastly, but in that moment, anguish and fury had torn at his insides and unleashed in a storm he could not hold back. His unmasking, he was certain, was the end of the only good thing in his life and the only thing he’d ever allowed himself to want. The rejection, the loss, was more than he could bear. He’d reacted as a wounded, broken man, and had feared that he had damaged their relationship beyond repair. 

She turned to face him, unafraid; her eyes seemed to sparkle when they settled on him. She offered him a tearful smile and patted the ground beside her.

Erik slowly moved closer to her and sank to the ground, crossing his legs. Christine lifted the edge of his cloak, pulling it around her so that she was enveloped with him. He held very still as she rested her head against his chest, and prayed that the frantic beating of his heart would not disturb her. 

She closed her eyes and, after some time, began to snore quietly. He held her until the sun began to rise. When the dawn's rays began to cast shadows on the stone walls of the chapel, he lifted her up carefully and carried her to the dorm. She remained asleep, nestled against his chest; it awed him that she felt safe enough in his arms. His hurricane of rage and betrayal had not changed her impression of him. She still trusted him. 

As he laid her in her tiny cot and indulged himself in the briefest caress of his lips to her temple, he knew that he was forgiven. 


End file.
